


"In very strong Scots"

by LowkeyScrupious



Category: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Crack Fic, aviemore train station, but I needed to give him a name, but it's not Ryan, he better never bloody see this, i don't and will never write RP fic, it's not actually about Ryan it's about Ryan!SationMaster, so he's called Ryan okay, that would be weird, this is the weirdest thing ever, yeah scorbus are in it briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:31:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LowkeyScrupious/pseuds/LowkeyScrupious
Summary: Ryan had never wanted this path. His father is Station Master of Aviemore train station, and seems determined that Ryan should follow in his footsteps. As Ryan grapples with the weight of a family legacy he never wanted, unseen forces tangle into play and influence his fate in a way he could never have foreseen...





	"In very strong Scots"

**Author's Note:**

> Idk man blame Lucinda for this. We were talking about all the wonderful Station Master covers we've been having recently, and how she wanted to see Ryan in that track... so this happened. I'm ashamed of me too, dw.

It looked to be the start of another long, cold day at Aviemore train station. The clouds were thick and grey, and loaded with unshed snow. Having grown up in the Highlands Ryan knew the blizzard wouldn’t take long. It wasn’t difficult to see and he supposed he had been lucky to escape the worst of the September weather so far on this cursed internship. You see, Ryan had never wanted to work the rails. He had never, in all his two decades, shown any kind of inclination to spend the rest of his life in a stiff uniform with a stupid hat giving travel advice to strangers he couldn’t care less about. When his old man came up to him and announced with a proud, buffoonish smile that he’d managed to ‘wrangle’ Ryan some work experience at the station Ryan had just continued to stare painedly at him, valiantly attempting to conceal the plethora of annoyance, trepidation, and above of all, confusion that his dad could ever have thought this is something Ryan would ever want. He understood that his old man was very proud of the job and knew he wanted Ryan to love it too, but it just wasn’t in his nature in any way shape or form to want to be the manager of this extremely empty, remote, two-platform train station. _Thanks for trying though,_ he thought bitterly as he scuffed the frost covered ground with his boot, and let out a haughty sigh that hung in the air in front of him, visible in the icy temperature.

 

His first few days in the job had been tedious, but not altogether awful. That was last week though, and today was the Wednesday ten days after he’d started. Conveniently his work experience was only two weeks long and he only had until Friday left patrolling around this tiny, depressing train station. The thought did little to cheer him up as he continued to walk the platform, doing… well, he wasn’t sure _what_ he was supposed to be doing. He truly didn’t understand the job at all. But then that was probably because he didn’t _want_ to.

 

No, there was only one job Ryan had ever wanted to do. And ‘job’ wasn’t exactly the right word for it, so to speak. Profession. Career. Those seemed more fitting for the kind of occupation he’d been dreaming of since he realised he could sing. Oh yes, he’d never admit it to anyone, but Ryan had a dream. A dream so scandalous and unrealistic no soul in the town would take him seriously were he to announce it. This dream was to move to London and become a professional theatre actor. This fantasy had inspired him and been his constant companion for as long as he could remember, his best friend… his only friend. He’d only been to the theatre once before in his life (to see the Harry Potter play, which he considered okay, but not really something he’d want to see again), yet he’d lie awake at night dreaming of standing ovations, of huge blinding lights, of saying a funny line and hearing the roar of a full house laughing. Of sold out theatres and stage smoke, of trap doors and microphone packs. That would show everyone. He’d be the most famous boy to ever come from Aviemore. The talk of the town, TV crews would swarm the village and be interviewing his old school teachers, friends, hell, even Martin the local barman. The world would want to know all about Ryan Mackay.

 

There was just one problem. Whoever decided that the RP accent was the only acceptable standard accent in acting, clearly needed to widen their horizons. Sometimes his anger was directly mainly at the stupid RPnormative profession, and sometimes he found it directed at his family for never thinking that speaking like an English person could ever come in handy. However, at the end of the day (whoever was to blame), he didn’t have the accent and therefore his big dream was scuppered before it even had a chance. His hand clenched around the pack of timetables he had in his pocket. No, instead he was doomed to work at this godforsaken empty train station for the rest of his life, and maybe, if he was lucky, he’d one day progress to Station Master as his father before him.

 

He sighed heavily and shivered as a chill crept beneath his uniform from the freezing autumn morning. There wasn’t another train due for 40 minutes. Simply for something to do, (and because it was icy), he headed over to the salt barrel situated by the waiting room, and decided he may as well start salting the ground. After a few minutes of this though, he realised it was pointless as the station was deserted, and likely only a few people will be turning up for the next train to Inverness at 8:07. Concluding that he really may as well just get a coffee from the WHSmith’s he crossed from platform one to platform two and pushed open the door to the shop, which felt like a furnace after being outside.

“You alright Ryan?” Gareth the shop assistant threw out to him as he crossed to the coffee machine.

Ryan grunted a response by way of greeting and quickly made his coffee – strong, black, and bitter.

 

It wasn’t until some time later that the boys appeared. Ryan first thought it was odd that two boys – no older than fourteen by the looks of them – were out alone on a school day. Secondly, they weren’t dressed for the weather. One had a blue striped hoodie but it was hardly enough to protect from the icy wind that was a sure sign of the overdue snowstorm, and already indicative of the ice on the tracks which had delayed the two services to Perth already that morning. The other boy had shockingly blonde hair (it was obviously bleached and looked ridiculous in Ryan’s opinion), was only in a thin jacket he recognised from M&S. In addition it looked like it had been _tailored_. Well, to each their own. It certainly wasn’t weather-suitable. Strange clothes aside, the boys were huddled up together looking very stressed about something or other. Probably girl troubles. Ryan rolled his eyes at the pair of rabble-rousers.

Nevertheless, the boys intrigued him. They were probably the most interesting people to grace the station today; their usual clientele consisted of haughty locals and American tourists that Ryan was getting increasingly annoyed at directing to the tourist office. He wondered over to the boys, who were looking increasingly troubled with every passing minute, and wondered if he could put his expert station-master-in-training knowledge to the test.

“ … our wits – and we have to stop her!” the blonde one was saying. So, they weren’t locals, that much was clear from their accents. Also. He’d been right about the girl troubles obviously.

“Ye ken th’ Auld Reekie is running late boys?” Ryan interrupted.

The boys turned to look at him. Neither of them spoke. They both looked strangely familiar… yet Ryan couldn’t place them. He looked to the blonde one expectantly, getting increasingly wound up that they seemed to have IQs less than 10.

The blonde one opened his mouth stupidly and looked to his friend, who looked just as stupidly back. Rudely, the brunette one turned away from Ryan with a muttered “Oh… No,” as if Ryan couldn’t hear him at all, shaking his head and putting his hands up in exasperation.

Well. If that’s how they were going to act.

“Sorry?” The blonde one turned back to him looking apologetic. Hmm, he seemed the less prickly of the two, and Ryan tried to explain again.

“If you’re waiting oan th’ Auld Reekie train, you’ll need tae ken it’s running late. Train wirks oan th’ line. It’s a’ oan th’ amended time buird.”

He looked at them, and they both looked back bewildered. Ryan frowned and handed them the amended timetable, pointing to the right bit of it.

“ _Late_.”

Oh Ryan was done with this pair. He handed it to the other boy – the rude one – who took it and examined it, his face changing as he took in the information.

Leaving them to it, he turned and exasperatedly threw his hands in the air. _Kids_. As he thought it he realised they really weren’t that much younger than him, but whatever, it was his right of passage to diss anyone younger than him, that’s just how the world works. As he strutted away a gust of wind blew past him and it carried the voice of the blonde boy, the one he’d thought seemed alright.

“You understood _that_?”

Ryan felt his heart sink. _I mean really_ , he thought, _I’m so sorry. Sorry that you can’t understand any other accent than your own, prefect RP_. Posh weirdos. Who needs them? Not Ryan. In that moment, Ryan realised something.

His life was worth more than just aimlessly strolling along empty platform ledges, looking for jobs where there are none, and dreaming of bigger, entirely different things. His life was worth everything he wanted it to be. It was worth taking a shot at his dream.

His family would be shook. He’d be ridiculed by the entire town if he up and left. And yet… it’s what he needed to do. He internally thanked that blonde boy and his friend for the moment of clarity. That was what he needed. He knew this is what the universe wanted from him. Knew it deep in his soul. He could almost _feel_ London calling him from down the rail. Tomorrow. He’d do it tomorrow. Screw Aviemore, screw the Highlands, screw being young and unemployed… he was moving to London where the streets are paved with gold to fulfil his dreams. He’d learn the accent. He was suddenly sure of it, as sure as he was that he couldn’t stay here. He’d get a flat somewhere central, he had savings saved up. He’d apply to acting school… yes, LAMDA or RADA would be lucky to have him… he made a quick mental note to remember to pack the Cursed Child script when he got home – he could easily learn something from that play for his auditions…

There was nothing else for it… the time had come, he may as well leave right now. He turned towards the exit of the station, passing those stupid boys who now seemed to be reciting some ridiculous prophecy in perfect timing together… he could feel the purpose building in his stride as his chest filled with pride and resolution. It was a physical call to arms. He’d never known a drive so strong. This felt pure, it felt right. He would make acting his _bitch_. Casting directors would rewrite scripts to one-man shows as soon as he began his monologue. Production companies would be wet for him. He was going to be the greatest goddamn actOR London had been blessed to have set foot in it. Ripping off his station master’s hat as he Beyonce walked to the exit, he knew in his heart of hearts he would make the world tremble.

 

The end.


End file.
